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I'm ready if you are.
Steadily walking past wekas, canoes, sailboats, motorboats, along concrete paths, down ash-felt slopes
Across intersecting car trails
Drawn only by the beckoning beach.

Feet slipping over Northland's rough green grass
Damp, spongy, smooth grit of coarse golden sand
Surrounding bush covered hill houses
Silently call your name, drowning out the cicadas.
'Where are you? Did you come?
I'm ready if you are.’

Sinking into still water
Invited into the giant’s bathtub
Slowly sit, deep ideas, deep tides
Run rocks between my toes, sandals
 
Nesting dotterel, raucous red billed gulls dive bomb
Cute little scoundrel of a dog, owning the beach.
Gaze on other swimmers, friendly laughter hastens
Early morning dippers, holiday makers, with quiet chat, Slipping away, back to their working day,
Driving uphill to Russell, leaving quiet Tapeka Bay.

'Would you love it here?' Smile.' 
Dumb question, who wouldn't?'
'I'm ready if you are.'

Deep soundings, cool water
Your name echoes silently from windless hills.
I grab my towel, dislodge stones from my sandals
Guide myself blindly up the streets and hill,
Steady along concrete paths, past canoes,
Pausing in the doorway to a soft bed where I find you.
Dry weeping salt from my eyes
'I'm ready if you are..'
Sleep confused, “Where did you go?''  
'...to the beach'

Standing tall above your sleeping form
Hope listens, living breaths,
Hope listens, silent non response
Hope falls, body turns away
Breath, mouth, not ready to start their day.
Unspoken questions fall only 
on sleeping stroke-fatigued ears.
Standing there, alive, energised,
'I'm ready if you are.'...Not!

'If you are not ready now
Where will I find you? Where will I find you later?
Will I find you later?
Arisen, alive, leaping energetic, with laughter
Smiling, saying 'Come swim with me!'
Hope turns to fantasy.

Outside along the concrete path
Wekas linger
Towels, togs swing in the bush edged clothesline
Canoes rest
Awaiting the excitement of days spent ploughing through the water.

Tears linger 
Sounds of the shower
Washing the salt away.


February 2017
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